


Imagine That

by BlueBoringer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Imaginary Friends, Imaginary John, Kidlock, Lonely Sherlock, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBoringer/pseuds/BlueBoringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in the imaginary friends business was tough, but John Watson was the best of the imaginary best friends, which is exactly why he was appointed to be the friend of a stubborn, lonely, dark haired child called William Sherlock Scott Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea I'm trying out, there's not currently a long term plan for it but if people like the idea, I'll continue. Any feedback would be great! Constructive criticism only please.

John had just been forgotten by Jeanette when he was called to the Council. She had known him for five years, John becoming her friend when she was four and starting a new school. But a few months after turning nine years old, John had started to be forgotten. She no longer believed in him and it broke his heart. It broke his heart every time. Even though his age was somewhere in the high 400s, his current appearance reflected the last child be became friends with. That was part of the contract for each child: your age reflected theirs.

That didn't necessarily mean all of his kind were children. Some imaginary friends decided to stop doing their duties and become members of the Council, there to appoint and advise their successors. Of course once their bodies reached the peak age of exactly 100 years, they passed. Everyone was humble, kind hearted. You had to be to be an imaginary friend. Any selfishness was not in any way the correct attitude for such an institution and John was an almost perfect reflection of what the council always wanted. That was partly why John was still in a 9 year old's body, because he was so good at what he did. The majority of his people retired by the age of 300, ready to assist those at the beginning of their lives like they had with the children. But John kept going.

As John approached the Council building, a vast, brightly multicoloured structure with twisting towers and large arches, he sighed quietly to himself. Normally he would be given some time off to mourn the loss of a friend, to recover from being forgotten before he was back to his peak level to help another child, but the Council had called him in straight away. It was a rare thing to be called in so suddenly. 

"John."

He turned to see a six year old girl, her hair in pigtails atop her head. "Sarah." he greeted with a small smile. "How are you? How are things going with Emily?"

"I'm good, thanks." she replied, walking into the building with him. "And fantastically. Her confidence is rocketing. I'm just here to hand in my report." she grinned before it fell. "I'm sorry to hear about Jeanette."

John shrugged a little. "Thank you. I was lucky to reach nine this time and she's much happier now." he answered, pausing in the corridor where they'd be going their separate ways.

Sarah nodded sympathetically at him. "What are you doing here though? It was only yesterday-"

"I've been called in. They're appointing me to a new child."

"What? Already? That's hardly fair on you! They're supposed to give you at least a few weeks-"

"It's part of the job, Sarah." he interrupted again. "There's always going to be children in need. And if that means I can't take time off, so be it. We're making a difference."

Sarah smiled at him but he could see the sadness behind it, her sympathy for him pouring out so obviously. "You're a good person, John. Good luck with your next child."

"Thanks. See you around, Sarah." he said before they parted. 

The seats in the Council building were inconsistent throughout, random forms of seating spread out along corridors. John fell into one of the beanbags outside the office he was waiting for and relaxed, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. He wondered who this child might be. Imaginary friends weren't rushed into positions unless the child was in desperate need. It had happened to him a couple of times. Once during the second great war, a young boy named Billy who wasn't evacuated and was always left terrified and alone under the stairs each time there was a bombing after his mother never came home one night. And the other a young girl whose dad snuck into her room at night.

Those were the hardest children to help, because there's only so much that can be done. He could support them and give them the strength to continue but he didn't have the power to make a change in their lives, especially once he'd been forgotten.

"John!"

He snapped his eyes open and looked at the jolly figure above him, looking a lot different from the last time they'd spoken.

"Mike. You've..."

"Gotten fat, I know." he chuckled, holding out his hand to John to help him out the seat.

"No, no, I..." John replied, cheeks flushing of embarrassment as he took his hand and got up.

"It's been a while. It was inevitable now I'm no longer playing cops and robbers every other day. Come in." he said, holding the door open for John to walk into his office.

Mike Stamford was a friend of John's from when they were 100 years younger. John had helped him out when he'd been struggling with some children and sometimes (albeit more rarely) Mike did the same for him. But Mike had retired 27 years ago and now was part of the council.

John took a seat opposite him at the desk, wishing the chair was as comfortable as the beanbag in the corridor but the thought was soon forgotten as Mike took his seat and passed John a file.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Eight years old-"

"That's leaving it a bit late for imaginary friend intervention, isn't it?" John asked as he opened the file, reading through the summary.

"Yes, well, you're not the first." Mike said with a sigh. "He hasn't acknowledged anyone else yet."

"Sometimes that happens with children, Mike. I mean, you remember Edward-"

"This is different, John." Mike interrupted seriously. "It's not as if the child is unimaginative. In fact he has one of the greatest minds the world will ever see. He's just stubborn, adamant he needs no one but himself."

John looked at the images and video clips of the child in the file, flicking through the pages. "Well that's clearly not true..." he muttered, feeling sad at the blatant loneliness and pain in the boy at such a young age. "But... Why am I here?"

"The High Council asked for you specifically. You're one of the most experienced people here, John. If you can't help him, I doubt anyone else can. He needs guidance." 

"He needs a friend, Mike." he sighed, shaking his head a little. "But he'll forget me in a couple of years max, what difference can I make in that time?"

Mike smiled knowingly at him from across the desk. "I've seen you work miracles in just a few weeks, John." he pointed out, leaning back in his seat. "You can help him. You just need to jump the first hurdle." 

John rubbed a tired hand over his face and let out a deep breath. "Well, the job isn't easy for a reason." he said, getting to the last page: his contract. He hesitated a moment before picking up the pen and signing before passing it back to Mike. 

"Thank you, John." he said, looking over the contract. "I know this won't be easy for you, especially so soon after Jeanette-"

"I know, Mike." he muttered as he stood, closing the file and hugging it to his chest. "I know."

"Your reports go straight to the High Council this time, John." Mike told him. "There are his other reports in there too from the others. I don't know how helpful they'll be."

"Cheers, Mike." John replied with a nod, heading for the door.

"Good luck." Mike added, causing John to look back at him, give him one final nod, then leave. It was going to be a long night knowing he was going to meet William tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining. Water trickled down the glass, leaving behind trails for other droplets to follow each time they hit the window, distorting the view of the outside world. Trees merged with the grass and the grey sky was stark against the mixture of greens and browns of the earth below. The birds were silent. The wild rabbits and hares were hidden in their burrows. The outside world had come to a boring standstill to the naked eye, other than the raindrops falling from the sky having formed around particles of dirt and falling down to hit the ground at such a force the pond's surface rippled endlessly.

There's such poetry and beauty in rainfall, and yet William Sherlock Scott Holmes found no enjoyment from staring out the window, only watching as he was banned from going outside in such conditions. He still didn't understand why it was such a big deal that he had carried in 3 buckets worth of mud last time it had rained. He wanted to compare the different kinds of mud at different depths but the soil was too dry underneath unless it was raining. Apparently his mother didn't understand that. His brother didn't help either, telling his mother in the first place what he'd done. But if she had followed the William-sized mud footprints through the house, she would have figured it out soon enough.

He still blamed his brother though. Stupid 'grown up' Mycroft. He was fifteen going on thirty with dreams of being a member of parliament and was getting more stuck up every day. William hated it. 

"I've always hated rain too." a voice said from behind him and he whirled around at the sound of the stranger. "Playing outside is the best kind of playing."

"How did you get in here? Get out!" William said with a frown, folding his arms and standing strong as he looked down at the shorter blond boy.

John chuckled, expecting nothing less. Looking a year younger to match William's age, he had spent most of the night looking over his file and the reports. The usual protocol for meeting your appointed child involved meeting them in a public and open space which all his predecessors had tried with William so John took a different approach, one he might get in trouble for later but William had spoken to him. He probably only spoke because John had made him jump. That was already more than what anyone else had accomplished. 

"Technically I never actually got in here. I'm imaginary." John replied, breaking another vital rule. Never tell the child you're imaginary, they have to work that out for themselves or otherwise their connection could be broken almost instantly. But William isn't any ordinary child.

William scoffed. "Imaginary? But you're standing right there!" he retorted, looking him up and down. But he couldn't deny that something was off. Usually he could work out things about people, subtle things from their choice of clothing or the state of their nails. This boy was pretty much a blank slate.

"You can't touch me though." he said with a shrug. "Of course your other senses can pick me up, that's part of the imagination's picture." 

William frowned at him and strode over, ready to push him through his bedroom door, but when he lifted his hands to the boy's shoulders they fell through nothingness and he stumbled a little. He backed up immediately, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. John internally shivered, hating it each time a child did that. It was usually the point they realised he wasn't real. In his world that didn't happen. He could touch and feel but here he couldn't. A cruel punishment usually for both parties in the imaginary friend situation.

"See? Imaginary." John said, moving to go and sit on the edge of William's bed, the mattress not dipping nor were the covers displaced as he sat. "I'm John, what's your name?"

William kept his mouth closed tight, blinking several times for the image to be removed and pinching himself subtly to see if it was just a dream. No, it was reality and this 'John' wasn't disappearing.

"William." he answered eventually. "If you're imaginary, how can you be here? Imaginary friends are for babies."

John smiled at the corner of his mouth. "Because I've been appointed to you. And they're not. You have to be at three years old to have an imaginary friend. You've had them since you were four but you've been ignoring them." he told him, raising an eyebrow. 

William's frown deepened. "What?" he asked before shaking his head. "No. No I don't like this. Go away."

John stood again and walked over to the door, not wanting to intrude and scare him off too much. "Okay. I'll go. But this is real, William. I may not be to anyone else in this world but I am to you." he said calmly, a tone reflecting his much older age than his eight year old body. "Also if you want to sneak in more mud, your father is out and your brother is too busy working in his room to notice." he added with a smirk before leaving. 

"What about my mother?" he added skeptically.

"She's working on her book, as per usual." John said as he popped his head back round the door with a smirk. "See you soon, William."

William glared at the door, thinking about it for a moment before he followed him but he stopped in the hallway, looking both ways.

He was gone. 

* * *

Wearing plastic bags over your shoes and throwing them away was a fantastic way of going outside in the rain undetected. William had done so and conducted his experiment with the mud, finding little difference from the depth he'd dug other than the slight increase in clay content in the soil. But he was happy to have done the experiment at last.

Mycroft had been unaware of his activities, his big nose stuck in books rather than William's business for once, just like John had said. This had sparked William's curiosity and now all he could think about was the strange boy from his imagination. That didn't mean he wanted to see him again though. It must have just been his subconscious communicating with him. It wasn't the first time his mind had 'spoken' to him in a sense that it gave him an idea of things to do. But the blond boy had appeared again.

It had been a month since he'd first seen John. Each week on the Saturday at precisely three o'clock in the afternoon, he appeared again. He would stay for half an hour, even if William told him to go, and then he would leave without another word. Of course he would speak at first to see if William would talk to him but all he got from the boy was a 'go away' or 'leave me alone'. 

But this Saturday would be different.

William would never admit it, but he'd been afraid. Afraid of his mind's creation and how real the boy seemed until touch was involved. But he wasn't going to let himself be afraid anymore. He was going to be brave. He'd be nine in a few months. Nine year olds aren't scared of anything. 

So at five minutes to three, William sat down on his bed and watched the door, anxious and curious to get some answers.

On time, as always, John walked in, surprised to see the door open for once. He smiled at William before jumping slightly as the boy launched off his bed and closed the bedroom door behind them.

"Sit." he ordered John, pointing to his desk chair turned to face the room.

"Good afternoon to you too." John muttered as he walked over to the chair and sat as he was told. 

William stepped into the middle of the room, pacing slightly as he thought to himself before returning his gaze to John.

He seemed so real. The way his shirt crinkled as he sat, the way the sun hit his golden hair, the way his body moved ever so slightly with each breath. He was impressed with his mind's ability to create a being so realistic and yet be just a figment of his imagination. 

"So-"

"Shh." William cut him off, silencing him as he stopped pacing, placing his hands behind his back and staring at him.

There were a few seconds of silence before John tried again.

"What're you-"

"Shh." he repeated simply, frowning slightly as he looked over him. He slowly stepped forward, reaching out a hand and waving it through John's head. The air felt no different, not even a change in temperature and yet-

"Can you stop doing that? It doesn't feel particularly nice." John requested, looking up at him.

That was when William met his eyes for the first time. A dark blue shade yet they were bright, kind, inviting. There was such emotion flickering through them that William could hardly perceive them himself. And they looked so old... Like this boy had seen more than his apparent eight years. How could he be a figment of his imagination?

"Technically, I'm not." John answered, making William realise he'd asked the last question out loud. "I've been children's imaginary friend for hundreds of years. I was born, the same as you, but not in this world."

"Then what world?"

John smiled, looking up at him. "If you stop making this into an interrogation, I'll answer your questions, William."

The dark haired boy hummed, looking him up and down before stepping back. "Okay." he said, taking a seat on his bed and nodding for John to do the same.

"My world is..." John paused once he'd sat down, contemplating what to say. "Similar to yours. We have different technologies and values, some here might call it a Utopia- that's a perfect world if you-"

"I know what it means." William huffed.

John chuckled. "Sorry, most children I've been with aren't as smart as you. In fact you're probably the smartest." he said with a shrug before continuing. "Anyway, because of the technology, over a thousand years ago my people found a way to come to your world through the minds of the people living there. But it was unsuccessful, we could only be seen by the person we used to transport ourselves."

"So you used us." William said bluntly.

John licked his lips and gave him a look. "Kind of. We did back then but we realised this could be a force for good." he explained, indicating between the pair of them. "Imaginary friends. Only children saw us. The majority of adults didn't have the open imagination to perceive our existence." 

William raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and John sighed.

"Look, thankfully our society's leaders at the time were kind, okay? Technically I'm not supposed to tell you any of this."

"Technically there's no one who would believe it if I repeated it anyway." William retorted, earning him a smile from John. "So... Why do  _you_ do it?"

"Me?" John questioned with a slight frown. "Everyone does, at least for a little while. Normally they stop after 300 years if they do it permanently-"

"300 years?!" the boy exclaimed. "But... People don't live that long."

"No, no humans don't. My people can live for as long as they wish so long as they continue to be imaginary friends." he replied. "I'm almost 500." he said nonchalantly, smiling to himself at the shock across William's features. "I'm one of the oldest though. I'm just too good at what I do to retire."

"Oh really?" William asked doubtfully. 

"Well, you're a special case. You haven't seen me in my prime yet." he smirked.

"How are you 500? You look my age!" William argued.

"Our bodies change to match the age of the child we're appointed to." he explained.

"But, doesn't that make you a child forever?"

John smiled a little sadly. "I've never seen myself older than 10 years old. If I retire, I'll grow up physically." 

William paused for a moment before smiling a little. "I've never seen myself older than I am now either." 

John chuckled a little. "That's true." he murmured. "Anyway, enough about me. Apparently you love pirates?"

William blushed a little and nodded. "Yes... Well..."

"Do you want to play pirates in the garden?" John asked with a grin, missing being able to play with boys, having been the imaginary friend of three girls lately.

William matched his grin, nodding. "Only if I'm Captain! Captain Blackbeard of the High Seas!" he announced before getting up and grabbing his pirate hat, excited to finally have a friend to play with, even if he was just imaginary, sort of. "You can be my first mate!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive response! I'm going to plan out this story properly now. It was originally just an idea but you've all been so kind I'll try to plan this out around uni life

William and John slowly began to get closer. William's new friend began to come more often than just on Saturdays. They spent most or all of the weekends with each other, along with most evenings and if John was visible to those around them, people would say they were starting to become an inseparable pair. 

But John noticed how adamant William had been about John not joining him at school. It had come up in conversation multiple times, just a simple comment from John, but William would either say no with no explanation or he would simply change the subject entirely. 

John wasn't stupid. He knew William was bullied at school for being different. The subtle bruises, the ripped trousers at the knees, the scraped knuckles. William's family weren't stupid either. They knew what was happening. John saw the sadness in Mrs Holmes' eyes each time they'd come back from school and he always felt his heart ache when Mr Holmes would knock on William's door after a particularly bad day, asking how his son was and what they would do at the weekend to cheer him up. But those weekends rarely happened. His father was a busy man and his mother was constantly working on her next maths algorithm. It was clear where William got his intelligence from. The Holmes parents loved their children and tried their best with the school, having moved William to other schools to try and avoid the problem but they always ended up in the same place. So Mr and Mrs Holmes would go to the school and talk to the teachers, talk to the parents of the bullies, talk to the headmaster, talking talking talking.

Talking. 

Exchanging words.

It didn't get them anywhere.

William would still come home with grazed knees and bleeding lips. He would still come home and cry. John wished so badly he could hug his friend. His mother was fiercely protective and his father was silently there when William needed him, but William didn't need anyone. Sometimes he disagreed to speak to John and would just lie in bed, crying himself to sleep as he ignored his mother's calls that dinner was ready. It was fine. Mycroft would eat his portion anyway.

This was one of those evenings.

John had come over, waiting for William to come home when the boy had walked in, the strap broken as he dragged his bag behind him. His hair was more out of control than usual, rips were in his shirt and he was covered in grazes, even a dark ring was forming around his eye. They weren't even being subtle about it anymore.

"William..."

"I want to be alone, John." William replied, his voice in monotone, completely void of any emotion. He walked over to his bed and lay his head on the pillow, the duvet soon wrapped around his small frame. 

John hesitated. "William, I-"

"Please just go." William whispered, his voice shaking a little. 

John sighed to himself, nodding. "Okay. Just say my name if you want me here. Whenever you want me here." he said softly.

And so was the pattern. John would leave and William would remain silent and alone for the rest of the night. John intended to change this but he knew how stubborn his friend was. It was almost impossible to change the opinion or choice of William Sherlock Scott Holmes, unless you were his mother.

John knew what he was going to do was going to make William mad at him, for how long, he didn't know, but he wanted to help and he knew it would help.

* * *

William took his time each day he walked the short distance to school. He was usually late which made the teacher angry at him but at least it meant he missed playtime at the beginning of the day. Sometimes he even got lunchtime detention if he was really late. Of course his school record wasn't the best because of this, but he was always top in the class so the school allowed him to stay, even if they did send letters home each week (all of which he intercepted in time before his parents could find them).

So there he was, walking to school at half the pace of any other person walking along the path with him when John appeared next to him, jumping a little when he spoke.

"Why do you walk so slowly?"

William scowled at him and stopped in his tracks. "What are you doing?"

"Going to school with you. I want to see what it's like there."

"No. No, I don't want you to."

John smiled a little. "Come on, Will, it'll be fun! I'll get to see how dumb everyone really is in your class." he reasoned, repeating what William had said about his class all the time.

William huffed and turned away, continuing to walk.

"So you're going to ignore me?" John asked as he followed him.

"Yes." 

"Why?"

"Because I am."

"That's not an excuse."

"Stop sounding 500."

"I'm not 500 yet."

"Shh I'm ignoring you!"

"Well you're not doing a very good job at it."

William stopped and turned to face him again, folding his arms. "Because if I ignore you, you'll disappear and you won't come back!"

John paused at that, looking at him curiously. "I'm not going to disappear, Will. I'm always going to be here for you." he said softly. He saw the brief flicker of emotion pass over William's face before he put up his defensive barrier again. 

"I still don't want you at school." William said eventually, continuing on his journey.

"You know I'm going to be here with you no matter what, right?" John asked. "Right?" he repeated when he got no response from his friend.

"Everyone leaves in the end." William murmured.

"Will-"

"I don't want you coming to school with me." he interrupted adamantly. 

John shrugged, continuing on the journey to the school. "Then I'll have to go by myself. How do you enroll when you don't exist?" he replied, turning around and smiling at him, walking backwards.

William groaned and continued walking, following his friend. 

* * *

The school seemed nice, the building colourful and full of children. He'd seen far worse schools (at least they didn't use a cane on children anymore) but he knew there was always a hidden side to a school, the side no one saw. He saw how William seemed to shrink in on himself as he walked into the classroom late, the teacher berating him for being so before William sat down at his desk. John observed the class, immediately spotting the boys who hurt his friend. They were watching William and laughing to themselves, the black eye an external mark of the internal hurt.

Bullies weren't his specialty. He didn't know how they thought. He was usually assigned to their victims instead like William but a lot of his colleagues dealt with bullies directly. Helping the bully change their behaviour often was the best policy. 

But he decided not to think about them for now. This was William's hell, the last place he ever wanted to be so John was going to turn that around. He looked around at the display boards, smiling to himself as he saw William's work. It was clear he was more advanced than most of his fellow classmates because spotting his work took less than a second. His handwriting was better than most, his drawings far more abstract than his classmates', his high quality work the centre of most displays. John smiled to himself. He was proud of him. Even though his intelligence was one of the main reasons he was targeted by these bullies, it didn't stop him being brilliant. 

He turned around to look at his friend and saw him watching him rather than paying attention to whatever it was the teacher was talking about. John grinned at him and pointed to William's work, turning back to admire it so William could smile to himself as he turned away too. 

* * *

 "Will, why don't you tell someone?" John had asked at break. William knew he had worked it out long before John had decided to join him that day.

"Because it makes no difference." he replied honestly from where he was hidden behind one of the hedges in the playground. He knew they would find him eventually but if he stalled them, he wouldn't have to deal with them for too long.

"But if you tell a teacher, they can-"

"No, John, they don't. Teachers say they care but they do nothing to help." he replied with a sigh.

"But you have physical proof of how badly they've been hurting you. That should be enough for them to take action."

William looked at him and shrugged. "There's no point. I'm used to it."

That hit John hard. He was used to it. This eight year old boy was used to being beaten up everyday. 

"No. You're telling them now." John said firmly, wishing he was able to touch him so he could pick him up and take him right there and then. 

"John-"

"No. No, Will, you're telling them. I'm not going to let them hurt you any more. It's times like this I wish I was real." 

William looked up at him and sighed. "Me too." he muttered before standing up. "Fine. I'll tell them. Now." he said, trying to convince himself more than John. He stared at the teacher on duty and looked back to John, doubt flashing through his eyes for just a moment before he steeled himself again.

John smiled, watching him as he walked up to the teacher on playground duty and staying by his side. He wasn't going to let him feel like he was alone anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

"John!" William had greeted him with a shout, thrusting a newspaper in his face. Of course John had flinched, even though the newspaper would have passed right through him. "Look!"

John had read the cover and frowned when he looked back to him. "Tragic Carl died doing what he loved?" he read out.

William was beaming at him. "Exactly! It doesn't make sense! Come on!" he grabbed his bag and ran out, John hot on his heels. 

"Wait, wait, Will!" he called, stopping the other boy in his tracks. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to the swimming pool of course!"

"What swimming pool?"

"The one he died in!"

"Why?"

"Answers, John!"

"Answers for what?"

William sighed and turned around to look at him. "Something doesn't make sense. A boy with no history of seizures just happens to have his first fit in the water and dies. Something about it seems  _wrong._ "

John just stared at him for a moment, wondering why the article had captured his attention so much. "Why are you so interested in this?"

"Because it's  _interesting_! Come on!" William grinned at him before continuing to run, bolting out the front door. John chased after him of course, as always, getting onto the bus with him. 

Ever since the ringleader of William's group of bullies had been excluded, he'd become far more confident. The bullying hadn't stopped but almost a year on it was no where near as bad as it had been before. So trips like this to go and investigate something weren't uncommon now William didn't fear who he was. But this was the first time William had wanted to investigate someone's death. Normally he'd see missing pet posters and would find them with the help of John. He'd started to get quite a lot of cash from the rewards, so much so that his mother had taken him to the bank several times to keep the money safe. Or at least that's what she told him. She didn't want him returning with boxes of crickets again from the pet shop. 

_"It's for an experiment, mummy!"_

_"William, you've let them out all over the house!"_

_"That's the experiment!"_

John read through the newspaper article as they rode on the bus, William holding it open for him. Carl Powers, an 11 year old boy visiting London for a swimming contest, had drowned after having a fit in the water. The lifeguards had been too late and couldn't save him. William was right, something about it seemed wrong but he couldn't put his finger on it.

By the time they'd arrived at the swimming pool, John had read through it twice and was thinking just as hard as William. 

"So what's the plan?" John asked as they entered the building, reopened for business from the prior day's events. 

"We're going to look in his locker." William replied, walking through to the changing rooms. 

"Won't it be empty?" 

"The parents probably aren't thinking about his change of clothes right now. I doubt they would have come to pick them up yet." 

"So why are we taking a look?"

"For clues, John." William replied with a grin.

John nodded and followed him to the lockers. He didn't know how William's intuition always seemed to lead them in the right direction but it did so the last thing John would do is argue with him.

"Which one-"

"This one." William said with a firm nod, flashing John a smile. "Can you look inside?"

John frowned and looked at him. "What?"

"You can pass through objects so look inside." he said, gesturing to the locker. 

John looked at him for a moment before smirking and rolling his eyes, leaning forward so he could look in the locker. It was dark, obviously, but there was just enough light falling through the slits in the locker door for him to be able to see the faint outlines of its contents.

"What's in there?" William asked, pretending to be putting things in the locker next to it. 

"Well, his bag, phone, clothes-"

"What clothes?"

"Er, shirt, shorts, underwear and socks..." John listed off.

"Shoes?" William asked him after a moment.

John looked around before frowning. "No. No, they're not here..." he answered as he leaned back out of the locker.

William gave him a confused looked. "You're sure?"

"They're not in there." John insisted, stepping aside as William looked over the locker because pausing at the lock.

"This has been picked." he told him, taking a closer look. He knew what a picked lock looked like, he'd done it before, more times than John would like him to admit.

"Who would pick the lock?" John asked him, watching him analyse it.

"Who would pick the lock and steal his _shoes_? There's a phone in there, most likely a wallet too and yet someone stole the shoes." William added before grabbing his stuff and running out, John chasing after him.

"Where are we going?" John asked as they ran out the door.

"The police station. This wasn't just an accident."

"You... You think this was murder?" John asked, looking at him in surprise.

* * *

 

William was panting for breath when he stood at the desk at the police station, John next to him looking far less worn out. The man sitting behind it looked bored, sorting files on his desk. He didn't notice the boy behind the desk until William starting tapping his foot impatiently.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, looking down at him. 

"I need to talk to a detective." William told him bluntly. 

"I'm sorry but you can't just talk-"

"It's about Carl Powers."

The man looked at him blankly for a moment. "Who?"

William dumped the newspaper on his desk, watching as he read the headline. 

"Why do you need a detective for this kid's death?" he asked, passing him back the paper.

"Because it was murder."

The man laughed, shaking his head. "Go home, kid."

"But his shoes are missing! Someone took them!" William protested.

"Son, his death was an unfortunate-"

"No it wasn't!"

"Go home-"

"No!" William shouted, folding his arms. "His shoes are gone! Why aren't you listening to me?"

"How do you know if the shoes are gone, hm? Did you take them?"

"No, why would I tell you if-"

"I don't know, kid. Now go home."

William scowled at him, about to open his mouth to reply when John spoke up.

"Will, let's just go. He's not going to listen to us." 

But William stood firm. "I want to speak to a detective!"

"What about, kiddo?" another man walked in through the front, nodding to the man behind the desk. He crouched down in front of Sherlock and gave him a warm smile. "Is everything okay?"

"Who are you?" William asked him, looking him up and down.

"My name's Tobias Gregson. I'm a detective here."

"Carl Powers was killed." William told him, shooting the man behind the desk a hard look.

Gregson looked at him bemusedly. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"His shoes were missing."

The man huffed a laugh, standing back up again. "I'm just going off shift. I'll drive him home." he told the man behind the desk. "I'll be right back."

"Why would his shoes be missing if there wasn't some kind of evidence on them?!" he shouted after the detective as he walked off, turning back to John. "Police are stupid."

"Will, they're not going to listen to a 9 year old..."

William paused at that, sighing dejectedly as he sat down on one of the chairs opposite the desk. "They're still stupid..." he muttered under his breath.

John smiled a little at that and sat down next to him. Stubborn and passionate, two words he'd use to describe William, especially when on a case. His friend was on to something but the police wouldn't believe a 9 year old boy. Why would they? What 9 year old could make a connection like that? William Holmes, clearly.

"Come on, kid, let's take you home." the detective said as he reemerged, nodding to the exit. William hopped off the chair and followed, John by his side. He gave the man his address as they entered the police car, sighing irritably as he looked out the window.

* * *

Mrs Holmes was not happy. 

When the police car pulled up outside her home, the last thing she expected was her youngest son to have emerged from the back of it. He was sent straight to his room while the detective explained what had happened. 

"It's not fair!" William complained as he flopped onto his bed. "It's not my fault they're all idiots!"

"Will-"

"I was trying to help!"

"Will-"

"What's the point in-"

"Will! Calm down." John finally managed to say.

"But it's not fair." he huffed, looking at him.

"I know but sometimes you have to know that people won't always believe you." he told him, taking a seat next to him on the bed. 

"Why?"

"Because people are stupid sometimes." he smirked, shaking his head. 

"But Carl's death... It's all a big lie."

"Grown ups don't believe children a lot of the time when big things are concerned." John replied, looking down to where he was sprawled out on the bed. 

"Now that's stupid." William told him bluntly.

John smiled a little at the statement. "They can't make the same connections you can." 

William looked at him, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile. "Then I think it's time to visit various police stations until they do, don't you?"

John grinned as he followed his friend as he sneaked out the back door.


	5. Chapter 5

School was over.

Primary school that was. A whole summer was ahead of them before William would have to start secondary school which the boy was dreading. He knew it would be the same as primary. The world seemed to follow certain patterns, especially at school, so why would the start of a new one be any different?

But these six weeks of freedom, the void in between one milestone and another, he knew would be the best six weeks for a long long time. Just him and John. 

John didn't feel the same. 

This was often a time when his people were forgotten, where they started to fade from their assigned child's imagination. These six weeks were usually their last weeks if they were still remembered. Once children turned 11 and start secondary school, they often began to mature and act older than they were and so any childish thing like their imaginary friends were left in the past. John had never been with a child this long. He hated being forgotten and the last thing he wanted was to be forgotten by William. He was different to most children. Each child was unique of course, special in their own way but William... William was incredibly special to him. But children grew up, that was part of the job.

It didn't make it any easier each time.

"What is it?"

William's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Hm?"

"What is it? You've been quiet today. Normally you don't shut up." William told him bluntly.

" _I_ don't shut up? _Me_?" John chuckled quietly. "I was just thinking about how old I am." he replied.

"You're ancient, you told me that already." 

"Thanks." John laughed. "I meant how old I am physically." he replied, gesturing to himself. "I've never seen myself this old." he replied simply.

William gave him a look before remembering what he'd said. "You mean other children had forgotten about you by this point?" he asked, seeing the amusement flicker across John's features. Others would think that expression peculiar at the question, but William knew John well enough to know he was just amused by his blunt responses.

John nodded. "So, what I'm trying to say is thank you."

"What for?"

"For not forgetting me yet." John replied with a small smile.

"Don't be stupid, John, I'm not going to forget you."

John smiled at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Will."

"Now stop being miserable and tell me about your world."

"Well, did I ever tell you about when I was assigned to Queen Victoria?"

"Who?"

John paused, looking to him. "Please don't tell me you deleted Queen Victoria."

William shrugged. "I only delete unimportant things." he replied bluntly, frowning at John when he burst out laughing.

"So you deleted one of history's most famous monarchs?"

"Precisely. Unimportant."

John shook his head as he giggled. "Don't ever change, Will."

* * *

"Come on, John." William said as he climbed up the tree, grinning down at him.

"You know, technically I don't have to climb up this tree. I could just appear to you at the top of it." John huffed, climbing up after him. He was good at climbing trees, he'd been doing it for hundreds of years but William Holmes seemed to levitate up them instead he moved so fast.

William laughed and perched on a branch, waiting for John to catch up. "I thought you said you were a tree climbing expert?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well this is a lesson in modesty. I'm supposed to teach you life lessons."

"What's the use in that?"

John reached his level and rolled his eyes at him. "To make you a more valuable member of society or something like that." he answered, sitting on the branch opposite him. 

"But I don't care about that."

"I know you don't-"

"So it's just an excuse." William replied, smugly grinning at him.

"An excuse for what?" John asked, feigning ignorance as he continued climbing up.

"For being far slower than I am at climbing trees."

"I wouldn't say I was  _far_ slower."

"I would."

John paused and looked down, giving him one of those 'shut up Will' looks that the boy always seemed to ignore.

"I'm just slowing down to make you think you're good." he eventually replied, rolling his eyes at him.

"Whatever you say, John." Will smirked, continuing his journey up the tree.  

* * *

It was the last week of summer. The best summer ever was nearly over and William was tired of his mother dragging him out to get new things for school. 'A fresh start' she kept saying almost every time he asked why they were out again. He wanted to go out and do something with John. Anything with John. All these hours shopping with his mother was beginning to get unbearable. 

"So she wants you to find a pencil sharpener that will match your highlighter?" John asked with a raised eyebrow, chuckling to himself as he watched William roll his eyes. 

"It's easier to agree with her and get on with it than argue and let it take twice as long." he muttered in reply, scanning over the pencil sharpener.

"But...you only have mechanical pencils. You don't need a sharpener..." John reminded him.

"Try telling her that- aha!" he said, reaching for a blue sharpener at the back of the display. "Mummy! I found one!" he called to her. John could see why he was adamant to find it. The way his mother's face lit up was enough to convince him to find an additional matching rubber, set of pens, pencil case and compass. 

William watched her add it to the basket and walk off to pay. "What do you think of Sherlock?" William asked suddenly.

"You're middle name?" John asked, frowning ever so slightly. 

"Yes. Don't be simple, John."

John rolled his eyes. "It's interesting. Like Mycroft."

"Yes- No! Don't compare my name to Mycroft's!"

"Middle name." John corrected.

"Shut up!" William snapped, folding his arms and ignoring the funny look another customer gave him. "I'm asking what you think of it as a first name."

"Oh... For you?"

"No, for the mouse that lives in the strange graveyard. Of course for me!"

"What do you want to change your name for?" John asked, looking at him curiously. "I like the name William."

William hummed, glancing at his mother still waiting in the queue. "I want to change it to Sherlock."

"Well it's a name as interesting as you are." John told him with a shrug.

"Then that's settled." William declared with a confident nod. "I'm Sherlock now." he added with a small smile.

"William!" his mother called, causing Sherlock to turn on the spot and stride over to her, meeting her at the door. 

"It's Sherlock now, mummy." he told her, giving John a small smile. 

To his surprise, his mother smiled at him. "You can tell your father I told him so when you tell him that." she chuckled and Sherlock returned her smile. "I'll call the school and get it changed for you."

Sherlock's smile fell then. Five more days until a new hell. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, in true Sherlock style it's two years later and I'm back! Sorry this was something that's got left behind with uni life and work but now I have a whole summer free and my enthusiasm for writing has returned. I've edited the previous chapters to fit in more with the new canon so you might want to go back and have a reread. Thanks for all the lovely support people have given me! I love you all!

John looked around his room. Everything seemed so small to him now. 

John was 12. He looked so different to the childlike features he was used to. Although he looked older, he was still young and many of his colleagues had inquired if he'd finally retired.

_"No," he told them. "I just haven't been forgotten yet."_

It was rare for them to be remembered this long. The oldest he knew one of his kind had been was 14. He remembered she'd retired after that, the loss of that final child being too much for her in the long run. 

It was as he was staring in the mirror analyzing the changes in his features that he heard a letter come through his door. He frowned, rarely receiving letters unless they were from the Council. He took one last look in the mirror before wandering over to the door and picking up the navy blue envelope from the ground. 

Embellished on the back was the Council logo: two intertwined hands. He broke the seal and took out the letter from inside.

 

_Dear Mr John Watson_

_It has come to our attention that your currently appointed child will soon reach the age of thirteen. As a result of this, we request you attend a meeting with the Council on the following Monday at 13:00 to discuss future plans._

_Sincerely,_

_The High Council_

 

He knew it was serious when the High Council contacted him. He knew his kind dealt with children, not teenagers. There was limited knowledge and expertise in the area and as a result, they were usually made to retire or give up the case. But John knew there was nothing they could say to make him give up on Sherlock. 

* * *

"I have a meeting about you tomorrow." John told Sherlock, watching him tense slightly. Sherlock used to be so curious about his world but as he got older, his interest in John technically not being real in this world decreased. He knew Sherlock would delete that part about him but neither of them wanted to experience how Sherlock would react when he found out again. 

"Because it's my birthday next week?" he asked in monotone, not looking away from the experiment he was carrying out on his desk. 

"Yes." John answered honestly. "I... There have been very few cases where my people have been remembered up to your age now. Even fewer that are teenagers."

"Well then you will part of the few." Sherlock replied bluntly. His voice beginning to break as he got older, just hints here and there. He'd started to overtake John's height more than before, his limbs appearing more lean as he grew. His mother had already had to replace his uniform over the Christmas break as his trousers were beginning to show his ankles. He was enjoying his new school. There was still the usual bullies but he didn't let them hurt him like they did before. William cared, Sherlock didn't. His teachers recognised his genius and started to pull him out of his shell, making him even more brilliant than he was before. However, Sherlock's only friend was still John.

"I can't promise you that, Sherlock." John said carefully. He needed to warn him. He didn't want him to think he had abandoned him, just picked up and left because he was too old. "The High Council don't really approve of cases over the age of 10, let alone into teenage years."

"Then why are you still here? If you had to leave at 10, you would be gone already."

"Because there was still work to be done." he replied simply. "You still needed my help. You still do."

"Says who?"

"Me." John replied, meeting Sherlock's eye as he turned around. "If you still want it."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, biting his lower lip in thought before turning back around. "I would have begun to forget you if that wasn't the case." he replied simply.

A small smile appeared on John's lips but his eyes were still sad. "I just want you to know, if I don't come back after Monday, it wasn't my choice."

Sherlock fell silent again, pretending to focus on his experiment but actually deep in thought. "I might not see you again after today?"

"Potentially." John answered quietly. When Sherlock didn't reply, John watched him a moment longer. "Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"Don't let yourself be alone. Ever since Redbeard..." 

Sherlock frowned at him. "You're suggesting I get another dog? Is that why you were sent here? Because I missed my _dog_?" he scoffed, scowling at John. "Is that really how pathetic you think I am? That I need the sympathy of your people over my dog being put down?"

John could see how incredulous he was and it broke his heart. "No, Sherlock..." he replied quietly. His mind had still rejected the truth. 

"Then _why_ are you here?" Sherlock practically shouted. 

"Because you needed a friend."

"Well maybe I don't need a friend. I never did before you. I managed fine." he snapped. "Get out. Go away."

"Sher-"

"Get out, John. Leave me alone."

John swallowed and nodded. "Okay." This wasn't how he'd wanted to part things but he left as Sherlock wished. He couldn't force his presence on him.

* * *

 

The High Council building seemed colder than everywhere else on his world. It was a lot more consistent than the usual Council building, with matching leather chairs and plain coloured walls. It was a place of business, serious business. 

John had tried to go and see Sherlock in the morning but he was ignoring him. It wasn't the first time he had, he knew Sherlock could still see him but it was different this time. Different because Sherlock knew it could have been the last time he would see him but he had just shut down, shut John out. 

But John tried not to dwell on that for now. He was sat waiting, watching as the senior officials passed him without a glance. They were the oldest of them all, those physically 80 or above. It wasn't as if they were that old in his reality. John was older than most of them and yet because he still looked like a 12 year old, he was treated as such as if he was a human child. 

"John Watson." 

He looked up as his name was announced and stood, giving the woman a small nod as she followed her inside. He sat down at the seat gestured to him and looked up at the row of the five High Councilmen and Councilwomen. 

"High Council case 649, John Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes." The High Councilwoman in the centre announced. "Mr Watson." she then began, looking down at him. "We are here due to the age of William."

John nodded. "Yes, I am aware of that." 

"William-"

"Sherlock." John interrupted. "He's called Sherlock now. Has been for a couple of years now actually."

She gave him a curt nod before continuing. "Sherlock will be aged thirteen on Friday. Due to this we suggest you terminate your contract and allow him to move on from the imaginary friend scheme."

"Not happening." John replied bluntly, face stern and still. "He still needs my help."

"And why is that?"

"Redbeard." he replied bluntly, watching each of them. Only one shifted uncomfortably, clearly he was the only one to actually read through his reports fully.

"Redbeard was his friend-"

"Who died. When he was a child. He still thinks he's his damn dog!" John shouted. "I'm not going to leave him on his own again."

"John, you realise it's not your choice." The man on the far left spoke up.

"And neither is it yours. We all know when a child is ready to move on they begin to forget. It may not be voluntary on their part but it is still their own choice. Not any of ours. I'm not going to let you cut it short. All you will be doing is ripping me out of his life which could cause more damage than before." John looked at each of them. "Do you really want to be responsible for that?"

The woman in the centre sighed, glancing to her colleagues who each gave her a small nod. "Then it is agreed. We will not be terminating your contract just yet." The relief flooded through John as she spoke. "However, this cannot continue for long, John. He will forget you. He may have a strong connection with you now, but in the end the child will always forget you."

"When he's ready to move on, he will. But he'll never forget me. This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about." John replied before standing up and leaving the room, mixed with relief and anger. He might get in trouble for the way he spoke to them but he doubted it. They knew he was experienced and enthusiastic about each of his cases. He'd be fine. Either way, he had Sherlock and right now that was all he needed. 

* * *

Sherlock had been pacing his room since he returned from school. He still hadn't seen John. What if he wasn't allowed to come back? What if it was all a lie and John didn't want to come back anyway? He wasn't exactly nice to him all the time but he wasn't one to let people in. 'Caring is not an advantage'. That's what Mycroft always said. He was right.

"Sherlock."

He span around on the spot, his eyes falling on a relived looking John. "John... I thought..."

"You thought wrong." he said with a small smile. "I'm not going anywhere. The High Council allowed me to stay."

Sherlock nodded. "I..." he cleared this throat, nodding again before sitting down at his desk, grabbing his chemistry book. "I'm glad."

"Me too." John replied, taking a seat on his bed before lying down as he realised how tired he was after this long day. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him for a moment before they were gone again and then it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep.

He hadn't slept in this world before. It was strange compared to what he was used to. Everything was a lot more hazy and unclear which made it difficult to stay asleep for long. He felt the mattress dip and opened his eyes, peering at Sherlock as he laid in the bed next to him, only taking up the edge where John wasn't sprawled out. He smiled a little at the fact Sherlock had left him room, even though he technically wasn't taking up any room at all. 

He glanced at the clock and rolled his eyes. Only Sherlock Holmes would go to bed at 2AM from reading a chemistry book written for university students. He got up, careful not to move too fast and disturb Sherlock, even though he couldn't displace anything around him. He stood next to the bed for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." he said softly before returning back to his own world.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was crumbling. John could see it. He had been doing so well until Mycroft had started meddling at the school. He'd left for university when Sherlock started secondary school but now that he'd graduated a year early, he was back to try and change Sherlock's life. He was controlling and manipulative and John hated him. He was bringing more attention to Sherlock from everyone at the school. The teachers knew of him and the students were aware of who he was before, but since Mycroft's input, everyone knew who he was and what his brother could do so in the end people hated him or were scared of him, teachers and students alike. 

So Sherlock was retaliating. 

His attendance was at an all time low, his classmates made an effort to seclude him and whatever Mycroft was doing was making the bullying worse, not better. So Sherlock didn't go. And whenever he did, he didn't attend his lessons. He just spent his time in one of the Chemistry labs. The teachers did nothing about it as they knew they'd have to face Mycroft's consequences.

And that's where they were. Again. John knew how bored Sherlock got so he didn't know how he could be say happy doing the same thing day in day out.

"It's not the same thing, John." Sherlock sighed, stealing more magnesium from the store. 

"You were using magnesium yesterday. And silver nitrate." John pointed out, trying to suppress the smile at Sherlock's surprise at the size of explosion he made yesterday.

"Yes but this time it'll be better."

"How?"

Sherlock smiled at him, a spark in his eye. This wasn't going to be good.

"Sherlock..."

"What? I just want to see how much kinetic energy the reaction produces." he replied innocently.

"What are you up to?" John asked slowly, narrowing his eyes at him.

The 14 year old smiled. "You'll see."

* * *

Oh he saw alright. He saw Sherlock launched back from the size of the explosion he produced. He watched several glasses smash as well as the windows. He saw the size of the amused grin on Sherlock's face as the fire alarm went off.

"Sherlock! What have you done?" he shouted, shaking his head at him as he looked around the room.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head where he had hit it. "I may have miscalculated a little." he smirked before looking to the door as it burst open.

"Mr Holmes!" the teacher raged, grabbing Sherlock by the arm and dragging him out the room, John hot on his heels. Sherlock just laughed, looking back to John as he continued to get dragged outside. 

The headmaster came right over and took Sherlock aside. "As soon as this has been sorted your parents are coming to see me. No matter what your brother says, Mr Holmes, we can't have you at this school any longer." he said sternly which soon changed to confusion as Sherlock's grin widened. 

"Thank you, headmaster. That was the idea." he replied bluntly, yanking his arm out of the initial teacher's grip. John's jaw dropped and he shook his head. 

"Sherlock, you're an idiot..." he said to him.

"Quite the opposite really." Sherlock replied to him bluntly, the headmaster now distracted by the fire evacuation of the rest of the school. "This was the only way I could get out of this. Nothing Mycroft can do or say will convince them to let me stay. Otherwise I'll cause more damage." he added nonchalantly with a shrug.

John shook his head and huffed a laugh. "You're unbelievable." He muttered before he started giggling to himself, causing Sherlock to join in as they watched the remaining student body leave the building. 

* * *

So that left Sherlock alone at home, his mother having set him 'homework' while she and his father sorted out a new school for him to attend. One which they forbade Mycroft to ever meddle with no matter what he thought he was doing for Sherlock. His parents were not happy, having told their eldest son not to purposefully influence Sherlock's school life after they first found out about it. In the end they were furious to say the least which Sherlock was very smug about when they were telling his brother off.

"So are you actually going to start attending this new school properly?" John asked him, watching Sherlock's frown of concentration. He was working on his mother's maths questions, both frustrated and glad his mother knew the extent of his potential and so actually set work at his level. It was rare for his mind to be stimulated to a proper level nowadays.

"Depends if they're a bunch of idiots or not." He replied bluntly.

John rolled his eyes. "You know you need to focus now. You'll be starting GCSEs in September-"

"We both know I'll pass them right now with flying colours."

"That's not the point. What I'm trying to say, if you so kindly won't interrupt me this time." He added, giving him a look. "What I'm trying to say is if you keep bunking and avoiding school, you might not get a chance to do your qualifications."

"You're sounding old and boring again." Sherlock told him bluntly, waving his hand nonchalantly. 

"Well I am old, remember?" John sighed, leaning back against the bed headboard.

Sherlock huffed and span around on his chair to look at him. "I don't need school. I don't need anyone to tell me what I need to do in life. That includes you, John."

"I'm just trying to help-"

"I don't need your help. At all."

"Sher-"

"I don't need you, John!" he snapped, scowling at him before he turned back to his work. "I don't need you." he repeated, quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than John.

John clenched his jaw, nodding a little. "Right. Fine. I'll... I'll leave you in peace then." he replied in monotone, getting up from the bed.

"Good." was all Sherlock said, ignoring him as John walked out the door.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close, the faint click of the door echoing through his mind as he froze. _Did John just..? No. No that's not possible..._ He stood and walked over to the door, pushing gently on the wood. It was definitely closed after being open before.

It was closed. 

On the other side of the door John had spun around, his natural instinct was to close the door, knowing full well he wouldn't actually be able to. It was why he couldn't describe the feeling of shock of the sound that followed. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as his hand hesitated over the door handle again, quickly pulling back again. Was this why he wasn't supposed to get older? No one had ever mentioned this about ageing before...

His hand shook as he slowly raised his hand to the handle. He took a deep breath before reaching out to grab the handle. 

Nothing.

His hand slipped right through.

Of course it would. It wasn't possible.

He closed his eyes and dropped his hand, sighing quietly. The disappointment flooded him instantly.

Sherlock heard John on the other side, swallowing hard as he felt the breeze on the back of his neck. 

The window was open.

He slumped back into his chair and stared at the curtains shifting with the wind, only looking away when he saw John again, seeing how upset he was. He must have thought the same thing too.

"I'm...sorry." Sherlock murmured, turning back to his work. 

John looked over to him and smiled sadly. "Me too." he replied. Sherlock glanced over and gave him a small nod, John settling back to where he was sat before on the bed, knowing that was Sherlock's way of saying he was welcome to stay. 


End file.
